


Journey Back to Shepherdsmas

by pengiesama



Category: Tales of Zestiria
Genre: Eggnog, Gen, Ghosts, Ghosts of Christmas, Humor, M/M, Post-Canon, Tales of Berseria Spoilers, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-18
Updated: 2018-12-18
Packaged: 2019-09-21 15:04:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17045921
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pengiesama/pseuds/pengiesama
Summary: Maotelus has ruined three Shepherdsmases, and saved two.Sorey and Mikleo just hope to still have a house by the end of the evening.





	Journey Back to Shepherdsmas

**Author's Note:**

> This is for the Sormik Advent Calendar 2018, for the movie prompt "Journey Back to Christmas". 
> 
> _"A WWII era nurse is transported in time to 2016 and meets a man who helps her discover the bonds of family and that the true meaning of Christmas is timeless."_
> 
> I assigned myself this prompt because I knew if I assigned it to anyone else they'd hate me, and then I forgot everything about the prompt except time travel, and then I mostly forgot about the time travel too.

\--

 

“Hey. Do you guys…do you know.”

Maotelus let the question hang there, as if it was self-explanatory. Or as if he was too drunk on eggnog to realize that he hadn’t completed the sentence. It was almost certainly the latter.

Sorey chucked nervously. “Maybe? What’s on your mind?”

As he spoke, he tried to stealthily lean in and confiscate the bottle of eggnog that Maotelus had commandeered from the open bar. Maotelus flung himself onto his back and jealously clutched his prize to his chest with all four limbs (and tail) to defend it. He was in his miniature dragon form this fine evening, and the gesture made him look like a hedgehog curled around…well, curled around a bottle of eggnog. It wasn’t a particularly creative metaphor.

“No! No. I asked you. I asked you _first_. I claimed this _first_.” As if to emphasize his point, he locked eyes with Sorey and slobbered his tongue all over the bottle. “Now you. It’s your turn to spill the beans. Do you _know_.”

Sorey heaved a sigh, his shoulders slumping. “Mao. You didn’t ask the full question.”

“Maybe I did,” Maotelus said sagely. “And maybe I didn’t. And maybe tonight, we’ll all learn the true meaning of Shepherdsmas.”

“Guys,” Sorey announced to the guests at his and Mikleo’s home. “Mao wants to show us the true meaning of Shepherdsmas.”

The group sighed and trudged over, sitting down in a circle around Sorey and Maotelus. Mikleo poked his head out of the kitchen. The rest of him followed after.

“Again?” Mikleo asked wearily.

He was wearing the cute reindeer apron that Lailah had gotten him as a gift that year, and carrying a tray of gingerbread cookies. His long hair was braided and tied up in a bun, and was secured with a red ribbon. There was a single smudge of flour on his perfect nose. If this wasn’t the true meaning of Shepherdsmas right in front of him, then Sorey didn’t want to be corrected. He opened up his arms wide, and Mikleo – very poorly hiding his smile – rolled his eyes and set the cookies down on a nearby table before allowing Sorey to bundle him into his embrace and settle him down next to him on the floor.

Everyone was settled around Maotelus and the fireplace, except…

“Hmm, hmm…” Lailah hummed carols to herself, deliberately not diverting her attention from frosting cookies at the dining table.

“You too, missy,” Maotelus said. “That oath is getting put on hold for tonight. Shepherdsmas.”

Lailah pouted and joined the rest of the group, swerving just in time to avoid the radius of Zaveid’s mistletoe hat.

“Listen. Listen to me. Listen,” Maotelus said. He rolled himself upright, still jealously clutching his nog bottle. “Listen. The true meaning of Shepherdsmas is…”

Maotelus’ eyes drooped once, twice, and then he briefly seemed to fall asleep before jolting awake again; jostling his bottle enough to splash its contents all over the surrounding area. Mikleo grumbled and blotted at Sorey’s new sweater with his apron.

“Shepherdsmas. I’m gonna bring in some guest speakers,” Maotelus said. “We’re gonna get visited by three ghosts and we’re gonna learn about Shepherdsmas.”

Maotelus traced the air with one stubby claw, and then in a flash of light, a ghost flickered into existence.

“This is the Ghost of Shepherdsmas Past,” Maotelus said. “Ellie, how’s it going?”

The ghost squinted around her, then looked down at where Maotelus was lounging on the ground. She gasped aloud, then seemed to puff up like an angry chicken.

“Is that _alcohol!?_ ” she demanded to know. She tried to grab it out of Maotelus’ claws and was thwarted by her incorporeal form. “You--! Did someone give you that as an offering? Did the others give you that? It was Rokurou, wasn’t it! What would Velvet say if she saw you like this, young man!?”

“I am over a thousand years old and I can drink all the booze I want!” Maotelus shot back. “You’re not my real mom!”

The ghost was an older woman with gray-streaked red hair, and was dressed in a post-Desolation Rolance church-military uniform. Maotelus had called her “Ellie”. With Glenwood’s two biggest ancient history otaku in attendance, it took barely a moment for her to be identified.

“Saint Eleanor the Reformer!” Sorey and Mikleo said in awed union.

Eleanor was briefly stunned by their enthusiasm, long enough for her attention to be redirected from Maotelus. She coughed lightly.

“‘Reformer’? W-well. I tried my best. I suppose it’s better to be known for one’s efforts than one’s—”

“Also known as ‘Saint Eleanor the Weeping’, or ‘Saint Eleanor the Lachrymose’ in some sects that have broken off the main Church of Rolance,” Sorey continued. “Some artists and writers can’t seem to settle on a title either, as evidenced in the epic poems like ‘The Lamentation of Eleanor, Our Lady of Ceaseless Wailing’, or ‘Eleanor Hume the Big Fat Crybaby: A Mayvin’s Tale’…”

Eleanor’s face fell flat.

“You know what this means, right?” Mikleo said in barely-contained excitement. “This finally puts to rest all those theories on whether she was reborn as a seraph! This will revolutionize the study of post-Desolation politics and sociology!”

Sorey took Mikleo’s hand in his, and gazed deeply into his eyes. “It will, won’t it? We can get started on the essay to present at Marlind University at the spring consortium…”

Mikleo intertwined their fingers, and squeezed tightly. “We can. It’ll take us all winter to write, you know…”

Sorey leaned in to rub their noses together, then rested his forehead against Mikleo’s. “As long as it takes. As long as it takes, I’ll do it if it’s for you.”

Awkward silence descended upon the other guests. Eleanor shifted in place.

“May I ask why I was summoned here?”

“Eh?” Maotelus thought for a moment. “I forget. Something about ghosts. Oh!”

Maotelus waved his claw again, summoning another guest.

“Here’s another one. The Ghost of Shepherdsmas Also Past.”

A spectral Rose blinked at the surrounding crowd. Then stared down at her own hands.

“…,” said Rose, before she let out an ear-piercing screech of terror.

“I wonder if this is supposed to be a metaphor for something,” Maotelus said as he watched ghost-Rose tear through the room like a tornado; climbing the walls and curtains, toppling chairs and tables, screaming all the while. “Maybe capitalism.”

“This is how hauntings start, you know,” Edna commented. She extended her umbrella just in time to shield herself from a thrown lamp. “One scaredy-cat ghost plus one house full of idiots. And I, the fair maiden, as the only survivor at the end of the film. Credits roll. How tragic.”

“Rose! Rose, don’t worry, it’s just us,” Sorey tried to reassure her. Rose’s screaming faltered for a brief second, then picked back up. “It’s – it’s so good to be able to see you again, especially at this time of year, so why don’t you sit and join us for just a bit?”

Rose paused to catch her nonexistent breath. “I — I, I’m sorry for – for commercializing Shepherdsmas – and, and for selling fake copies of your dirty socks as holy relics—”

Maotelus clapped in delight. “Yeah, Shepherdsmas! More ghosts! I’m gonna summon that pengyon guy next! He can be the Ghost of Shepherdsmas Not a Ghost and Not Even from This Game!”

“Hell yeah, pengyons!” Zaveid cheered. “I brought my bagpipes! Let’s sing carols!”

“Hell yeah, bagpipes! You can be the Ghost of Shepherdsmas Naked Bagpipe Man!” Maotelus declared. “We’re all Shepherdmas ghosts this fine evening.”

The Shepherdsmas gathering was a lost cause, and Sorey and Mikleo quietly and stealthily departed the festivities to take a breather outside. Mikleo groaned and wiped his face with his reindeer apron.

“Do you think we’ll still have a living room left after all of this?” Mikleo asked wearily.

Sorey scrunched up his nose in thought. “Maybe? Depends on how quickly Maotelus decides to finally send Rose back. It’s a nice night out here, at least…”

Snow was falling gently from the clouds. The Elysian hills were already dusted in a fine coating of white – by the morning, there was sure to be enough to blanket the whole mountain. It was a bit chilly, though. Sorey bundled Mikleo in a bit closer, even knowing that Mikleo didn’t feel the cold as he did. Even so, Mikleo’s breath puffed from his lips visibly in the icy air.

This seraph body of Sorey’s was still so new and confusing – he got chilly and too-hot, but not hungry or tired. He felt joy and sorrow, felt loneliness, felt love. He watched as the human world that he never felt quite part of push ever onward. Through the confusion and newness, there was a constant that grounded him: Mikleo, by his side, as he always had been.

Mikleo’s breath was warm on Sorey’s lips, and his smile was equally warm as Sorey pulled back minutely to speak.

“So…can my Shepherdsmas present be you bringing me breakfast in bed, dressed in nothing but that apron?”

Mikleo cocked an eyebrow. “Does that mean I should return your other presents?”

Sorey pouted so terribly that Mikleo couldn’t help but laugh and lean in to kiss his lower lip. The quiet moment was short-lived. There came panicked-sounding squawking from inside, and more of Rose’s screaming, until it came to an abrupt halt.

“Crap! Is there a ghost doctor in the house!?”

“I – it looks like she just fainted, if you move her to a quiet spot she should be fine—”

“Doctor Ghost of Shepherdsmas Not a Ghost and Not Even from This Game! You’ve saved Shepherdsmas! Me bless us, every one!”

A triumphant bagpipe jig tooted through the night air. Mikleo sighed heavily, and rested his head on Sorey’s shoulder. The snow was still falling, and the stars were so bright. And the company was still so wonderful.

“We’ll see if we even have a kitchen in the morning. Then I’ll think about it.”

 

\--

 


End file.
